" He was silent.
"You are a good little girl, Bebee, I can see." he said at last, with a
graver sound in his voice. "And who is this Annemie for whom you do so
much? an old woman, I suppose."
"Oh, yes, quite old; incredibly old. Her man was drowned at sea sixty
years ago, and she watches for his brig still, night and morning."
"The dog's heart. No doubt he beat her, and had a wife in fifty other
ports."
"Oh, no!" said Bebee, with a little cry, as though the word against the
dead man hurt her. "She has told me so much of him. He was as good as
good could be, and loved her so, and between the voyages they were so
happy. Surely that must have been sixty years now, and she is so sorry
still, and still will not believe that he was drowned."
He looked down on her with a smile that had a certain pity in it.
"Well, yes; there are women like that, I believe. But be very sure, my
dear, he beat her. Of the two, one always holds the whip and uses it, the
other crouches."
"I do not understand," said Bebee.
"No; but you will."
"I will?--when?"
He smiled again.
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